Page 67 of Mistletoe

“I am forbidden from the house,” Hal said.

“As mistress of the house, please accept my hospitality and get your behind in the kitchen. It’s too cold for me out here.”

Emma touched his hand. “I’ll be as quick as possible.”

He watched her enter the house and said, “She won’t be quick.”

“No. She and Oscar are both too stubborn for that. Go on in. There’s hot water in the tank. Wash up, and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hal went around the side to the kitchen’s entrance. His hand hesitated on the doorknob. He should move on, leave before the pistol-toting brother decided that the only good monster was a dead monster. He could leave right that minute, walk out into the night, and avoid the tears and farewells.

Impossible. The thing inside him that tied him to Emma pulled tighter, refusing to allow him to walk away. He was compelled to stay. More importantly, hewantedto stay.

He waited for Emma for decades. Centuries. He could wait a few minutes more.

Emma

Mistletoe Farm

The Parlor

“It pretended to read my books,”Oscar said, stomping across the parlor to his favorite chair.

“I’m certain Hal can read,” Agatha said, shutting the parlor door. She turned to Felix and said, as if this were a perfectly ordinary family reunion, “Are you home for good?”

“I have a day pass, I’m afraid. I have to report to the base tomorrow morning,” Felix answered.

This was a disaster of her own making. She didn’t want to leave Hal on his own. He was hurt, and now she had to placate her father because she had been too cowardly to tell him the truth.

Emma cleared her throat.

No one paid her any mind.

“Excuse me?—”

Nothing. Oscar muttered about monsters taking advantage of his good nature, Agatha peppered Felix with questions, and Felix glared at Emma.

This would not do.

Emma poured herself a glass of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. No one in the family was much of a drinker. The brandy was mostly decorative, to be sipped at holidays or with guests. Today, though, she needed it.

She drained the glass. Her father continued his rant. Her mother retrieved her knitting project and settled herself into her customary chair by the fire. Felix peered out the window, pistol in hand, as if watching for an orc attack.

“Hey, listen,” Emma started. Oscar pointed an accusatory finger at her. Before he launched into a tirade about nature, nurture, and how it was impossible to fight one’s true nature, or whatever hogwash he spewed, she spoke over him. “Yes, Hal is an orc. He’s been one the entire time we’ve been acquainted.” For her brother’s benefit, she added, “I hired him on as a farmhand.”

“You hired a monster,” Oscar said.

“And I would have told you,” Emma continued, speaking over her father, “but I feared your reaction. Frankly, Pa, you’re a hypocrite.”

“I never!” he protested.

“You write about accepting the natural world as it is, not trying to shape it into a pale imitation of Earth, how we can only be our authentic selves, but you can’t accept Hal for who he is.”

“He’s dangerous,” Oscar said. “He’s the creature from the tavern fight, isn’t he? Did you think your poor blind Pa would never notice, Emma?”

“What bar fight?” Felix asked, tearing his eyes away from the window. “What have you done, Emma?”

Emma ignored her brother and focused on her father. “I thought you’d recognize a gentle soul. I thought thephysical trappings diminish as the soul shines bright.”

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